


Backwards and in Heels

by Lasgalendil



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Awesome Peggy Carter, Bad French, Captain America: The First Avenger, Drinking Games, F/M, M/M, Sexual Humor, Steve Rogers' Super Soldier Serum tits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 02:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasgalendil/pseuds/Lasgalendil
Summary: Peggy Carter has two big brass ones....or 'may the breast man win'.





	Backwards and in Heels

**Author's Note:**

> "Jarvis know you can do one hundred and seven one-armed push-ups?"
> 
> -Howard Stark, The Blitzkrieg Button

So it went like this:

Somewhere in the Alps—could be Italy, Austria, Germany, fucking Liechtenstein, damned if any of them knew at this point— Colonel Phillips had set up a temporary command post in a bombed out pub. A quick scouring of the premises assured the Howling Commandos that the beer in the cellar had gone unmolested by air raids of Allies and Axis alike, and a foray behind the collapsed bar further revealed a rather fine bottle of scotch. Claims were immediately laid. 

 

“So it’s settled, then?” 

“ _Oui_.” Nods all around.

“And you’re not invited,” Morita informed Rogers firmly.

“And why’s that?”

“For one, super-soldier serum. Two: you’re our CO.”

“You shouldn’t be caught fraternizing with your men,” Monty said in agreement. “It’s unprofessional, man.”

The Captain shook his head. “You’re just afraid I’ll order you all to lose.”

“Sure, Rogers.”

“Ain’t like we follow orders, anyhow,” Dugan shrugged.

“Well then, gentlemen, it is decided,” Monty interrupted officiously, and raised a glass of the aged scotch in a toast. “May the best man among us win.”

“—And lady,” Carter called.

They turned, bemused.

“Come again?” Monty asked.

“Gentlemen and lady,” she shucked her coat and rolled back the sleeves of her cream colored blouse. “I want in.”

“Oh, hell no,” Jones shook his head, and raised himself from the floor. “I’m out.”

Her hands found her hips. “Afraid to lose to a woman, Private Jones?”

“No, ma’am. But I know a poker face when I see one. You’re either the world’s greatest charlatan, or you’re confident you can beat every single one of these boys. I don’t aim to find out.”

“Coward,” she chortled. “Any one else?”

The Frenchman stood and bowed rakishly, eyebrows raised. “ _Je préfère regarder_.” He sat on the bar and uncorked a bottle of wine. Carter snorted. 

“Don’t think we’re gonna go easy on you,” Dugan warned. “Just because you’re a girl, or ‘cause Cap here’s sweet on you.”

Rogers flushed. 

“I assure you, Dugan, I would be deeply disappointed if you did.”

“Peggy—“ Rogers began. 

“Darling, do shut up.” She said, taking her place on the floor. Rogers shut up.

“You sure you wanna do this, doll?” Barnes asked her incredulously.

“Are you?”

“If you’re all done flirting…” Morita sighed.

“Alright then,” Monty said. “On the count of three…”

“ _Un, deux, trois,_ _c’est parti!_ “

The competition began.

“Carter—?”

“—the bloody hell?”

“Goddamnit.”

“ _What_ —?!”

_“Quel travail!”_

“Well, gentlemen,” Carter said between repetitions. “I am a woman. It’s only fair to allow for some handicap,” she grinned as she completed another push up with perfect form, her right hand tucked genteelly behind her back. Barnes fell flat on his face, hiccoughing. 

“And the competition thins already,” Carter noted.

“Goddamnit,” Dugan groused. There were groans and grunting and readjustments as they all of them put one arm behind their backs, scowling at her. She smiled back serenely.

_Dix!_

_Vingt!_

_Trente!_

Rogers looked both baffled, aroused, and rather embarrassed. He held his drink sheepishly in front of his lap. “I uh, I didn’t know girls could do that.”

“We are also,” Carter panted as she, Dugan, Monty, and Morita neared forty. “On occasion.” Forty-one. “Known to fart.”

“I beg your pardon?” Monty’s voice rose. Rogers flushed crimson, and Barnes snickered into his hands.

“Oh, shit,” Morita said, shoulders shaking with exertion and the effort of holding back his own laughter. “It’s a good thing it’s not your time of the month.”

“Oh?” Carter asked, now pushing fifty. “And how is that?”

“I’d hate to lose a no-armed push up contest,” Morita said, and pulled his legs up underneath himself at Dernier’s call of _Cinquante-deux!_ “I’m done, gentlemen—and lady. I have my pride but I know when I’m beat.”

“Pansy,” Dugan grunted.

“Language,” Rogers sighed. 

“And you, Lt. Falsworth, Dum Dum?” Carter asked imperiously as the Frenchman called out _Soixante!_ “Are you two to surrender as well?”

“Fuck you,” Dugan growled.

“I dare say not,” Monty managed. “I have an athletic reputation to maintain. As Churchill says: Victory.”

“So I see,” her eyes flicked down his torso. “Although that’s not the only thing you’ve maintained.”

“Jesus Criminy Christ,” Rogers groaned, his face and neck now flaming pink as Dernier slapped his shoulder.

Barnes helped himself to the bottle of scotch. 

Monty glared up at him. “I say, man. It’s for the winner.”

Barnes snorted and sipped at his own glass smoothly. “Yeah. That glass. No one said anything ‘bout the rest of the bottle. And if I have to stand here starin’ at your dick, Monty, then I’m gettin’ goddamn drunk.”

“You are a sore loser, Sergeant,” Carter laughed.

“What can I say, doll,” Barnes shrugged with a sad, strange smile. “Know when I’m beat.” 

_Soixante-dix._

_Soixante et onze._

_Soixante-douze!_

Monty’s shoulder wasn’t the only thing straining.

“What’s wrong?” Carter asked, as yet another bead of sweat ran from her neck down between her heavy breasts. “Have you never seen décolletage before, Lt. Falsworth? A brassiere?”

Monty’s face flushed as red as Rogers’.

“So that’s a no,” Morita heckled from the bar. Dernier sent an elbow into his side lewdly.

“Madam, I find your line of questioning to be highly inappropriate.” 

“Giving up?” Carter called as Monty scowled, stomping behind the bar to adjust himself.

“Pansy,” Dugan grunted.

“Oh, put a cock in it, Dugan.” Barnes retorted. The Frenchman cried out in delight at the man’s expense.  “Cork. Fuck. Shit!” 

“Do shut up, man,” Monty sniffed down at Dugan’s leering grin. “You try doing calisthenics with your bloody belt strangling your cock.” 

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and Moses, Limey!” Barnes sputtered. Monty stole the bottle from him and poured a glass of his own. Dernier raised his wine in comeraderie.

“Don’t you start, man,” Monty growled. Rogers shut his mouth. 

“I’m not,” Dugan huffed and puffed. “Letting your. Womanly wiles. Get to me.”

“I can see,” Carter said. 

“They’ll only weigh you down.”

“If you say so. Though I have been told-”

“-on multiple occasions-”

“-that I do have-“

-rather marvelous breasts.”

Rogers put his face in his hands.

“Seen better.” Dugan grunted.

“Undoubtably.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Jones turned his eyes to the heavens.

Morita shrugged. “I don’t know, Carter. I say you stand up and we all judge for ourselves.” 

“Jesus,” Rogers groaned. 

“If it’s a titty contest,” Barnes interrupted, reaching across the bar to squeeze Rogers’ left breast firmly. “Then Steve here wins.”

“Jesus, Buck!”

“Oh, quite.” Carter agreed. “No argument here.”

“God Almighty,” Jones stared at Rogers. “Are you white people supposed to turn that color—?”

“‘M Irish,” Rogers said in a small, small voice.

_Quatre-vingt-un._

_Quatre-vingt-deux!_

_Quatre-vingt-trois!_

Dugan and Carter were still going at it, huffing and puffing like the Grimm’s proverbial Big Bad Wolf. Her thin silk blouse had soaked all the way through to her skin. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dugan grunted. “Cap’s a lucky man.”

“You’re all going to hell,” Jones lamented, back turned on the entire sordid spectacle. “Stop staring!”

“Nope,” said Morita.

“ _Quel pruderie_ ,” Dernier sniffed at him.

“I can’t unsee them, man,” Monty moaned, forehead flush against the bar. “I close my eyes and there they are, still bouncing!” Barnes poured him another glass in sympathy.

_Quatre-vingt-dix!_

_Quatre-vingt-onze!_

_Quatre-vingt-douze!_

“Hey, Jonesey-Boy? Tell Frenchie his numbers make no goddamn sense,” Barnes muttered.

“This brings back rather unpleasant memories of Bullingdon Blinds,” Monty lamented. “I’ll have you know, I don’t ordinarily watch pornography in public.” Carter’s heaving grunts and panted gasps did nothing to help.

“It’s not pornography if they’ve still got clothes on.” Morita said, with the air of a connoisseur. Dernier nodded his agreement.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Rogers put his knuckles in his eyes. “Jesus fucking Henry Christ.”

“Now look what you’ve done,” Jones sighed. “You’ve broken America’s paragon of virtue. I hope you’re all happy.”

_Cent un!_

_Cent deux!_

_Cent trois!_

Carter—with a lagging, cursing Dugan—continued. “Good bloody God,” Monty said in amazement. 

But finally, at Dernier’s cry of _Cent six!_ , Dugan’s right arm gave way beneath him. The man collapsed into a heap on the floor. 

Carter’s shoulder strained, arm shaking, but she raised herself up once more, completed one hundred and seven one armed push ups. There was an eruption of raucous cheering.   _Cent sept!_ Dernier pulled Rogers in by the shoulders and kissed the man’s flaming cheeks. 

“Lady and Gentlemen,” Morita held up the coveted glass of scotch. “We have a winner!”

“It’s a goddamn miracle,” Jones grumbled.

“How the hell—?” Dugan managed to gasp between breaths.

“Sheer. Bloody. Stubbornness.” Carter stumbled to her feet. “Though you absolved yourself well.”

“Not bad,” Dugan grunted. She offered him a hand up. “For a girl.”

“Force equals mass multiplied by acceleration,” Carter panted, shaking the man’s hand with a firm grip. “I couldn’t beat you by brute strength alone, so I convinced you lot to double the weight.”

“I’ll be damned,” Dugan said.

“Jesus fuckin’ Henry Christ, Steve.” Barnes said. “You sure about this one? She scares the shit outta me.” 

Morita snorted. “Scared’s not the word for it.”

Jones nodded thoughtfully. “The pen is mightier than the sword.”

“Quit talkin’ about your penis, Jonesey. There’s a lady present!”

Carter smiled wickedly. Ignoring the offered glass to prise the bottle away from Barnes. She downed the remainder in one long pull.

They stared.

She wiped the corner of her mouth, lipstick somehow still immaculate on her sweat-flushed face. “Backwards and in heels, gentlemen,” she said, shrugging back into her coat. “Backwards and in heels.”

...And that was the end of that.

 


End file.
